Betrayed
by QueenOfCrazy
Summary: AU set after Ep.10 The entire world has betrayed Sansa, betrayal and grief do awful things to people. And now, she'll do the only thing she can, she'll force them to taste their own medicine.


Some lessons were harder learned than others, and as of late, it seemed that all of Sansa's lessons were hard learnt. To have the entire world she believed in shattered in a matter of seconds had been devastating. She was finding it hard to open her eyes, to get out of bed, to breathe. In hindsight, this had been a long time coming, she realised. A thousand small things had been leading up to the moment the sword had been swung. Hundreds of warnings from friends, family and strangers alike. She had been warned and yet, in her delusions, she had remained completely oblivious to the real world.

Her precious songs had once been magical, tales of hope and love, everything she wanted in life. Now they betrayed her, they screamed lies to her. Because no one simply got their happy ending, they had to work hard for it and even then, it was often taken from them. Now, when she heard the songs, she merely wondered, what had been sacrificed so they could have their happiness? How many men had died at the hands of the gallant knight she'd daydreamed of? Did anyone stop to think of the families of those men? She'd never thought about it before. Because they weren't what the story was about, it was about love and the gallant knight getting the girl simply because that was how it should work.

But that didn't mean that was how it did work. The gallant knight did not get what he wanted simply because he was the hero of the song. Sansa once viewed her life as a song, especially after leaving Winterfell. A sweet tale of a young lady who would marry her prince charming and become his queen, to have beautiful children whom she loved. But it wasn't a song, it was a piercing scream of agony that resounded through the air. It was a fake.

She felt cheated and betrayed by the entire world. She'd been lied to, whether anyone had meant to lie to her or not. They'd lied when they told her she would be a wonderful queen, they'd lied when they said she'd have her happy ending. Because now, no matter how hard she fought, how much she tried, she'd never truly have her happy ending. Not with Joffrey, not with anyone. She couldn't even run home now. She should have listened to her father, why didn't she listen?

Because she'd been foolish. She wanted to believe in the good in Joffrey that simply wasn't there. It never had been and it never would be. And now because of it, the only man she ever really loved had his head put on a pike and brandished for the world to see. It was her _prince _bragging. He'd done it. He'd broken the North. He had killed Eddard Stark.

And then, when she thought that the entire world had betrayed her, her family, her friends, her prince, her songs, someone else did. Her own body turned traitor against her, and did the worst thing possible:

Bled.

All she could do was curl up and sob tearless sobs. She had no tears left. All of Sansa's tears had been shed for her father. She wondered, should her mother die, or Robb, or Arya, would she shed tears again then? Would she ever shed another tear? Maybe for her family, but never again for Joffrey. For any of them. They weren't worth the trouble.

A son. He'd want a son now. He'd want to touch her and the thought made her skin crawl as if bugs were running around inside her. It made her stomach churn. She didn't want to live on the same planet as him, much less share a bed with him. How had she loved him so? Was what she felt even really love? Or was it just her dreams trying to force their way into reality? She'd wanted a prince charming, and instead, she'd gotten a sadistic murderer. She felt like a cautionary tale, for what could go wrong with dreams. Maybe that's what she'd become. Maybe one day, he'd kill her because her lips had moved faster than her head. And then years from then, a woman like Old Nan would tell a young girl, like her or Arya, the cautionary tale of Sansa Stark, who loved a monster in the disguise of a prince and then had to suffer his wrath.

She hoped so. At the least, that some poor girl with her head in the clouds and her heart full of dreams of love, like hers had been, would heed those words. She would learn in theory where Sansa had learned in practice.

She wouldn't be able to hide the revelation from the queen. She was a woman now, officially. And now it was her job to bare her betrothed children. And something deep within her knew that she'd hate them. For as much as they'd be her, they'd be _him _too. So she made a resolve, one that seemed to solve everyone's problems. Her mother would have called her a fool, if she had have known what Sansa had in mind. But yet, it seemed so simple. So easy.

And so quickly, her plans changed. She went straight to Cersei's to tell her what had happened. Yes, she was Cersei's now. Not the queen. A woman like her did not deserve such a title. She didn't deserve anything.

'_Mother would have made a good queen…' _Sansa mused as her hair was pinned up for her 'big day'. Of course she knew that her mother would have hated every second of it. But her father would have been a good king, and her mother an equally good queen. Maybe if she'd had a different king, Sansa could have been a good queen as well. But there wasn't time to think about what if's. There wasn't time to think about anything.

And so she stood there and she said her vows. She promised to stay beside his side until her dying day, or his. She swore many things. And she felt a seed of guilt within her aching heart. She would not love him. Nor would she cherish him. She was making false promises. She just hoped no one else knew that.

Sansa could all but hear her mother sobbing over her fate. She wished she could comfort her, tell her that everything was going to be alright. Even though truthfully, she knew nothing was ever going to be alright again. Not now. Not after all they'd lost. And then that night, after the festivities, she walked to her bed chamber, instructing her handmaid to send a raven to her mother with a small piece of paper that contained everything that her family would need to know. They'd survived. Catelyn Stark was a strong woman. And Robb, Robb was the King of the North. He would march onwards.

Her hand was clutched around possibly the most important thing she'd ever come into contact with and she clutched it tight. Her knuckles stained white and as she entered the room, she had to take a moment to breathe. She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew why she was doing it. And she knew it had to be done. She readied herself. Her _husband _would arrive soon, as much as the thought made her nauseas, it was the truth now, wasn't it?

He didn't say anything when he arrived, or when he climbed on top of her, pulling at her dress. She shut her eyes for a moment, when they opened, she was smiling at him, contently. He seemed confused. And with her lips still stained with that same smile, and one rough shove, the knife sliced upwards, through his flesh, under his ribs and then finally, to his heart. That look on his face. Confusion. Not horror, not pain. Confusion.

She pushed him away and he fell from their bed, light as air onto the floor and so she laid there, clutching the knife, the blood from it seeping through and staining her dress and she closed her eyes. Why run? She'd only be found. Better to get a night of rest, before her life was lost. And so, she dreamt of her home, of Winterfell. Of her father, alive and well. Of them all together. There were so many things unsaid. Had Arya known she hadn't really hated her? Had Jon known that she didn't share her mother's disdain for him? She hoped so. She hoped they all knew how much she loved them. And why this had been necessary.

And as she drifted into the darkness, she remembered one of the songs. When she was a child, she'd hated it. So dark, so sad. The exact opposite of everything she'd wanted in life, which had become exactly what her life was.

"_She tied you to the kitchen chair,  
She broke your throne,  
She cut your hair,  
And from your lips she drew the hallelujah…_

_I've seen your flag on the marble arch,  
And love is not a victory march,  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah…_

_It's not a cry you hear in the night,  
It's not somebody who's seen the light,  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah…"_

"Lady Stark! Two raven's from King's Landing."

Without another word, without reading a single letter, Catelyn knew. Sansa. Her dear Sansa, with her fair skin and fragile heart. What had become of her? Surely nothing good, not in the care of Joffrey Baratheon.

"From Lady Sansa."

Her eyes flickered to the man, holding out a small note. With shaking hands, she took the paper from his hand. It was not addressed to Lady Stark, or Catelyn Tully. It simply said, _mother. _She stared at the word, running her thumb over the ink. _Sansa. _Finally, she mustered the strength to open it.

_Mother,_

_I'm sorry I didn't listen. And I'm sorry for what I'm about to do. But I love you, and Robb, and Arya, and Bran, and Rickon, even Jon. Please, tell them that for me because I'm afraid I won't have the chance. Long live the King in the North._

_I'll give father your love._

_-Sansa_

"No…" She couldn't have…she couldn't be…what had she done? And then, another letter was handed to her. Addressed to Lady Stark, not of Sansa's hand. She'd know it anywhere. But this script was not any she'd seen before. Her hands trembling even more dreadfully than they had been before, she opened the letter.

_Queen Sansa Baratheon, formerly of House Stark, has been charged with the murder of her husband, the King and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, Joffrey Baratheon on their wedding night. Her Grace is to be executed the morning after the morrow of her wedding day at dawn._

It took a long moment before Catelyn could make anything of the world, much less the words in front of her. Clutching tightly at the paper, she rushed outside the tent and the sun was already high in the sky. Dawn had been hours ago. Many hours ago. She felt her legs go weak under her and soon she was on the ground. That familiar numbness leaked through her and she couldn't feel anything. Not the sun, not the grass, not the fabric of her dress, nor the paper in her hand. Nothing. She knew there were several people calling her name, asking about her welfare but they did not wake her from her state of withdrawal.

Only when Robb knelt next to her and put his hand on her shoulder did she respond to anything. Had he not come, she might have stayed there, a living statue for the rest of her days.

"Robb…" She choked out. "We must…we have to go. Now." _'We must take King's Landing. We must get back Sansa. Or what's left of her.'_

"We will. We'll find Arya and Sansa and we'll take them home. And the North will be ours."

'_Yes. We'll bring them home…both of them.'_


End file.
